A Little While Longer
by twinkle23stl
Summary: Takes place while Tristan is in hiding in Ireland. Isolde is trying to avoid having to marry Morholt. She attempts to convince Donnchadh that the marriage is not in her best interest, but to no avail, and seeks solace in Tristan's company. Rated T just in case. Poetry is from John Donne. Oneshot. My first fanfiction, enjoy!


"Father, I wish to tell you that I do desire to be married," Isolde began.

"I am pleased to hear that, since your wedding day draws ever nearer, as soon as Morholt returns from Cornwall," Donnchadh replied.

"I am honored that you deem me marriageable to your finest warrior," Isolde continued. "But it concerns me that he is one-and-twenty years older than I - old enough to have fathered me. Surely you know of another great fighter under your command who is seeking a wife. One who is a bit closer to my own age."

"You need not worry, Isolde. Your mother was nearly twenty years younger than I when we were wed. I have promised Morholt a wife upon his return, and I shall see to it that he receives one. The matter is settled."

"But Father-

"Did I not say the matter was settled?" Donnchadh thrust his goblet of mead aside, his tone gruff. "Unless you claim to know better."

"I believe I do, actually," Isolde boldly countered, her eyes narrowing.

"Isolde!" Bragnae hissed sharply.

"Is that so?" Donnchadh smirked, meeting Isolde's glare. With a swift motion, he struck her across the cheek. She staggered for an instant but did not fall, as Bragnae rushed toward her, grabbing her wrist and leading her towards the door.

"Bragnae," he added, "perhaps you can see to it that she is rid of this impudence before her wedding day."

"Yes, my king," Bragnae replied with a slight bow, whisking Isolde out of Donnchadh's quarters.

* * *

"You mustn't speak to him so, Isolde! How many times have I told you that?" Bragnae scolded as they ventured outside.

"Why must I be subjected to a miserable existence like that of my mother?" Isolde sighed with frustration, blazing quickly towards the stables.

"Isolde! Where are you going?" Bragnae demanded breathlessly, trying to keep pace with her. "Off to see that curly-locked 'prisoner' of yours once again, aren't you? If your father gets word of this, he'll have both our heads," she continued as Isolde mounted her trusted horse. "I have matters to attend to here, but I'll be down there shortly thereafter. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, Bragnae. I'll see you a bit later, then," Isolde grumbled, turning away and riding swiftly to the shore.

* * *

Isolde dismounted, peeking through the wide slats of the wooden door to the hut, clutching a cluster of fresh berries in one hand, which she had stopped to pick along the way.

"Up here!" She glanced upward to see Tristan sitting atop the hill into which the hut was carved, fashioning a shell necklace to match the wristlet he had given her before. He leapt down, wrapping his arms around Isolde in a tight embrace, then escorting her into the hut, pushing the wooden door aside.

"I thought you might like these," Isolde smiled warmly, eagerly handing the bunch of berries to Tristan as they made their way inside.

"Thank you," he replied, smiling as he plucked a few and tossed them into his mouth, savoring their sweetness. "Delicious. Here, have some," he graciously offered.

"It's alright, thank you. I had quite a few myself on the way." She glanced around the hut, noting that he could use a bit more firewood. "You have those while I go gather some sticks for the fire."

Isolde returned a short while later, placing the bundle of branches aside. She had also brought with her her favorite book of poetry, from which she liked to read to Tristan. Sitting down next to him, she opened the book and started to read. Tristan gazed lovingly at her, his dark brown eyes marveling at her pretty gray-green dress, her delicate hands and wrists, her beautiful blonde hair tied back in a braid. She began,

"Stay, O sweet and do not rise!

The light that shines comes from thine eyes;

The day breaks not: it is my heart,

Because that you and I must part.

Stay! or else my joys will die

And perish in their infancy."

Isolde glanced up at him, her blue eyes twinkling, a sweet smile illuminating her face. Suddenly Tristan's expression grew concerned.

"Bragnae, what happened?" he asked, his tone worried.

"What do you mean, what happened?" Isolde responded, puzzled.

"Your cheek…it's red!"

Isolde immediately realized he had seen where Donnchadh had slapped her earlier that morning. She didn't want Tristan to worry about her.

"Is it? Perhaps I was in the sun a bit too long," Isolde tried to reassure him, forcing a smile. But Tristan saw right through it.

"Bragnae," he spoke gently. "Who hit you?" Isolde's face fell, her eyes cast downward. She was so touched by his kindness her eyes welled with tears. "It's alright. You can tell me." He took her hands, covering them with his own. She decided to be honest, although without disclosing that Donnchadh was actually her father.

"King Donnchadh. I tried to speak my concerns to him about my betrothed, but he said it is settled."

"I'm so sorry he did this to you." Tristan's face was lined with sympathy, tinged with a hint of anger.

"It's alright. I shouldn't have –

"Shhh," he comforted her. Taking her face in his hands, he wiped away the tears that had fallen from her eyes with his thumbs. Tenderly, he caressed her left cheek, his thumb gliding over the welts. He then leaned forward, planting sweet, gentle kisses on her cheek, moving upward to her forehead, back down to the opposite cheek, and to the tip of her nose. He then lifted up her chin with his hand. Overwhelmed with emotion, she willed herself to meet his eyes for a brief second, closing them again as his lips met hers, faintly tasting the sweet berries he had consumed a short while earlier. He drew her warm, delicate body closer to him. Isolde nestled her face in the crook of his arm, breathing in his woodsy, comforting smell. She closed her eyes as Tristan held her and stroked her hair. Perhaps, she thought, she could rest here for a while. She knew she couldn't stay forever, but she felt so safe here, so loved. Just a little while longer, she hoped, as she fell into a deep sleep.


End file.
